


Dead London

by MrProphet



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 14:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	1. Cry God 4 England

"She bit me! Oh god, she bit me!" John clutched at his bleeding throat. "Am I gonna turn into one of them?"

Stuart lazily pumped his shotgun. "If you do, I'll put you out of your misery," he promised.

"Oh, put that thing away!" Ethel snapped impatiently. "I know it makes you feel like the big man, the big gangster, but there's no need to scare the poor boy any further."

Stuart growled, but was unable to meet the old lady's eyes. 

Meanwhile, Padma knelt and began to bind John's wounds. "You're all right," she promised. "The virus is airborne; if you weren't immune, you would have changed already. Stuart; if you're done posing, why don't you see what we have in here? It looked as though someone has stockpiled supplies; maybe weapons. I know having the only gun makes you feel manly, but it's hardly practical."

Ethel grinned at the younger woman. "I'll check the doors," she said, brandishing her walking stick. "They looked strong; not much good if they're open."

John kept one hand on his cricket bat as Padma worked on him, his eyes on the shuttered windows. "So, you're a medical student?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Biochemistry, but I took a first aid course at school. And you? Literature?"

John smiled awkwardly. "No; I just read a lot of comics.  _Should_  have provided a pretty good survival guide, but they all assumed a readily accessible supply of firearms."

"You did all right with the bat."

John looked down at the blood-stained bat. "My grandfather would be mad as hell," he said sadly. "Always told me to look after it, like he did."

Padma nodded. "The sword was my father's. He... When he was dying from the sickness, he asked me to..." She tied off the bandage and stood up, moving away from him. "The immunity rate for the disease is one in five hundred. The survival rate with one human to five hundred zombies is lower."

"Jackie! Jasmine!"

John rolled his eyes. "And Stuart's chances?"

"Dropping," Padma assured him.

*

The four survivors reconvened in the kitchen of the safe house, where Ethel took charge, as dignified as a queen despite the chunks of flesh in her hair.

"This is the situation," she said. "This house has some supplies of food; Stuart is preparing us a meal 'like the one in the Godfather', apparently."

"Hide-out spaghetti and sauce?" John asked. "Awesome."

"Shut up, kid," Stuart warned. "I do not want people thinking we like the same things."

"Unfortunately, we can't stay here. There's food and electricity, but no fresh water and they are gathering outside. We rest through the day and then move on at night; I don't think their night vision is up to much.

"As well as food, Stuart has found a weapon's cache and medical supplies. There's an information pack containing the message that the military have established these supply drops all over London to aid uninfected survivors in reaching an evacuation site. This one is large and has a target range in the basement, so if you've never fired a gun before I suggest you pick one and get used to it. Don't spare the ammunition; there's far more than we could carry."

"If you're not used to guns, take one of the lighter shotguns," Stuart suggested.

"Come the evening, we make a break for the next safe house on the map; that's down towards Blackfriars," she added. "If we can find a boat we can make our way out of the city by river.

"Of course, between now and then, most of the population of London will try to kill and eat us," she finished, "but let it not be said that we gave up."

"You said it, Lady," Stuart agreed with surprising enthusiasm. "The old Dunkirk spirit, what!"

"I'm not that old," Ethel assured him sternly, "but if that pasta is ready then I will say grace."


	2. Dead London

It was the Witches that broke John. He couldn't stand to hear them weeping, over and over like frightened children, without trying to help. It struck Ethel as odd; she would have expected Padma to be more affected by it, but then it was so hard to tell these days and Padma was not what she would have expected from a young woman, a young doctor or a young Sikh.

Perhaps it could count as ironic that, after struggling past four or five Witches, twitching and shaking with the urge to try to comfort the poor, shattered creatures, John finally startled one quite by accident. They hadn't even heard her... its cries when a careless step sent an abandoned tin can bouncing and rattling down the stairs of a small footbridge. They paused, tense, waiting for the howl of the horde, and then that terrible, unearthly scream broke the silence, followed by the scrabbling of claws and bar feet on the steps as the Witch charged.

They'd never seen one close up before; never seen the extent of the damage wrought by the virus. They'd caught sight of the eerie jack o'lantern eyes from afar, but never faced that terrible deathlamp stare as it bore down on them. They'd never seen the ghastly, inhuman speed with which they charged or the terrible, bony claws on their fingers.

John froze, caught like a rabbit in that shining glower, and the Witch bore down on him, heedless of the shots which poured into her from Ethel's rifle, Stuart's shotgun and Padma's pistol. She hit John without slowing and knocked him clear past Ethel, slashing at his face and chest with a savage, mindless fury before he hit the deck of the bridge.

Ethel and Stuart paused, not wanting to fire with John so close, but Padma never hesitated. She dropped her pistol and her father's sword sang as she lopped the Witch's head from her shoulders.

The smell of blood drew the horde and it was hard going to reach the next safehouse. The group had hoped to press on to the docks at Waterloo Bridge, but there was no hope of that with John in the state he was. He never would have made it if not for Stuart, who supported him most of the way and carried him the last half mile, even though it left him exposed to the infected.

In the safehouse, Ethel cooked while Padma attended to John's injuries and Stuart bandaged his own cuts and bites.

"Thank you, Stuart," Ethel said as she passed him a bowl. He grunted something about never leaving a man behind and tried not to look at anyone.

Padma watched over John as he ate, but he was too out of it for food. She hooked him up to a couple of drips and Ethel spoke a silent prayer in thanks that the medical supplies of the safehouse had not been ransacked before.

"I had to use most of the antibiotics and pain killers," she explained, "but we're healing fast. I think it's the virus," she added. "I think it was meant to accelerate healing, but only a few of us avoid the side-effects. He'll have the scars for life," she added sadly. "He was pretty too."

Stuart harrumphed, but later Ethel caught him checking on John and then laying a blanket over Padma's shoulders where she had fallen sleep at John's side. He blushed when he saw her. "Well, I reckon if Jasmine's a ninja, he might turn out to have hidden talents. Driving a boat would be good."

"It would," Ethel agreed with a smile, but the expression didn't last. "I don't think many people made it this far," she said.

Stuart shook his head. "City's too crowded," he said. "It's like Jasmine was saying; the plague spreads in the air and in the towns it spread like wildfire. Every cough, every sneeze; every stream of Boomer spew..."

"Thank you, Stuart."

"But seriously," he went on. "Out in the country you've got a chance to keep away from it, but here? Chances are most people with an immunity were standing next to a Z before the news had a chance to get out, and there's no immunity to being choked, battered and eaten."

"You're a ray of sunshine, Stuart."

"And you're a rock, Ethel old girl."

She straightened primly. "Less of the old, thank you."

He smiled. "Get some rest," he suggested. "We'll need to move in the morning, but I can keep an eye out."

"Wake me at one," she insisted. He nodded, but she had a feeling he would take the whole night himself. He was like that, deep down under the cynicism.

It pleased Ethel to know that people could still surprise her, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse.


End file.
